After the Crash
by RosesSharon
Summary: After crashing the Wolseley on the way back to the vicarage, Sam struggles with the knowledge that she risked her boss's life. Foyle has other concerns - Sam's wellbeing. Based on events from "The French Drop." I do not own Foyle's War, nor the rights to anything from it. Chapter 5 may contain content more suitable for an M rating. Readers' discretion is advised accordingly.
1. Chapter 1

Everything was a wreck and the sound of steam escaping from the hood of the Wolseley went unnoticed for almost a minute. Foyle was shaken, and it appeared Sam had momentarily lost consciousness, her head pressed against the wheel, hands still frozen at 10-and-2.

He adjusted his hat, taking quick inventory of his faculties and ensuring he wasn't injured before swiftly turning to Sam. He saw her face was bloodied from the impact, and his heart seemed to stop for a split second. She couldn't have died from an accident like this… could she? No, surely that wasn't possible. Still, for a moment he didn't know what to think.

Then her shoulders moved. As she regained consciousness, he realized he hadn't breathed for several seconds. The relief was palpable.

She looked bewildered as she lifted her head and surveyed the situation. Her head felt as though it were split in two, and as she touched her forehead she was frightened to find blood streaked across her leather glove. Still, that didn't matter now, what mattered was that her boss hadn't been injured. She couldn't forgive herself for endangering them both. She could only hope she wouldn't be fired for this.

"Are you alright?" he asked softly, noting the cut along her brow. His heart still pounded in his chest as he tried to regain control of his nerves.

"Yes, sir."

She certainly didn't look fine. The fear had not left her eyes and her change in posture suggested a stiffened and sore back.

"I'm sorry, sir, I don't know what happened," she said quickly, her eyes almost pleading. He hoped she didn't anticipate punishment for this – he wasn't a tyrant, he couldn't scold her for what had happened.

"We should get out. Can you manage?" he asked, motioning to help her out.

"Mhm" she murmured, making her way through the passenger door after him. He paused before supporting her arm with his and closing the door behind her.

"We'll walk back to the vicarage," he said, decidedly. "Then we can send a mechanic to see to the car."  
She nodded glumly, and Foyle realized what he had intended to sound reassuring had only made her feel worse.

"I'm so sorry, sir," she said again, this time so quietly he almost missed it.

"It's alright, Sam. Clearly wasn't your fault - something went awry. No need to beat yourself up over it." He almost added, 'I think the wheel did that well enough for you,' but decided against it. She was feeling fragile enough as it was.

They walked quietly for a ways until they finally caught sight of the vicarage roof.

"Nearly there," he said softly.  
Sam slowly began to remove her gloves, rubbing her neck as they walked.

"I just can't imagine what could have happened," she muttered, not paying attention.

"What were you saying about the wheel?" he asked.

"I couldn't get the wheels to turn," she said. "It was as if they were stuck, and then I turned the wheel so hard it snapped them back out and I couldn't stop them."

He stopped in his tracks for a moment, remembering something he'd just been told by one of the instructors at Hill House. So, this hadn't been an accident, then.

"Just remembering something," he said, touching her arm briefly and giving her a sympathetic smile. She was quiet all the way to the house.

 _She never talks when you want her to_ , he thought somberly.

When they'd returned to the house, Foyle told Aubrey what had happened and requested some dressings for Sam's forehead.  
"Of course, right away," said the vicar, in a tizzy, before vanishing down the hall and into the kitchen.

Foyle steered Sam into the parlor and motioned to the seat by the window.  
"Thank you, sir" she said, slowly lowering herself into the chair and taking her first deep breath since the accident. Aubrey returned with a clean hand towel, a bowl of soapy water and a bandage, before disappearing again to fetch a fresh decanter of wine.

Foyle quietly pulled an ottoman before Sam's chair and seated himself with the bowl and towel. Then he took a moment to examine the wound. It didn't seem too deep, thank God, but it certainly needed cleaning.  
"Alcohol might be more affective, but-" he said quietly as he dipped the towel in the bowl. As he held Sam's cheek in his hand he forgot what he'd intended to say, and trailed off. He didn't want to hurt her and touched the cut as gently as possible.

He tried not to look into her eyes, which followed his with a mixture of interest and a remnants of anxiety. His gentle movements and the quiet of the room – broken only by the sound of his cleansing the towel and shifting in his seat - was helping to ease her nerves.

When he was almost done, Foyle stopped a moment to look over the rest of her face. This seemed to be the extent of her injuries, but for some reason he couldn't look away. Her wide eyes finally drew him in and held his breathless attention before she softly cleared her throat and spoke.

"I can... take it from here, sir," she said, not wanting to, but feeling she must. He nodded and wrung the cloth out one more time and handing it to her.

"'Course," he said, his eyes creasing a smile in her direction as he stood and reseated himself in another spot.

Sam chided herself for ruining the moment as she finished mopping up her brow. What had she done that for?  
She set down the bowl and towel just as her uncle returned with a freshly filled decanter.

Once conversation had concluded and Sergeant Milner, Foyle, Sam and Aubrey had finished talking about the case, Sam drained the last of her wine and made to leave.  
"Right, well, if we're going to dig up a grave we'd best do it now. Mind you, we'll have to use another car." Milner smiled and met Foyle's gaze. They silently agreed: she was a champion, willing to return to the road and continue working, even after what had happened.

Walking out before the others could join them, Foyle brought her aside to speak privately.  
"S-Sam, are you sure you're alright to drive?" he asked as gently and unassumingly as possible. She blushed slightly and lowered her eyes for a moment before responding.

"Certainly, sir. I know, you must have lost every ounce of trust in me for what happened, but I promise you it won't happen again."  
His brows creased as she said this.

"I don't… blame you for what happened. I told you, it wasn't your fault."

"…But, sir-"

"No buts. End of conversation. You're free of all charges."

She smiled.  
"That's jolly decent of you, sir," she said, trying to remain professional and not dissolve into tears. Still, a small one escaped the corner of her eye before she could stop it, and he'd noticed.

He also heard the threat of more tears in her voice and felt sheepish as he struggled to find something to say.

"Nnot at all," he finished simply.

As they heard the approaching chatter of Milner and Aubrey, Foyle felt a quiver in his stomach. He was panicking, somehow, uncertain what to say, but knowing he wanted to say something more private, more meaningful before the others met them at the car.  
He let his better judgment slip just for an instant, pulling her closer and brushing her cheek with his hand again. Then, gently, he planted a kiss on her brow, right beside the cut they'd just cleaned.

"I trust you, Sam," he said softly, and then released her, his eyes staying with her for a moment before Milner walked over to him.

"Shall we go?" Milner asked, and they continued talking as they took their seats in Milner's police car.

Walking to the drivers' seat, Sam felt her heart flutter, a sensation which only increased as she took her seat beside Foyle.  
 _Don't make too much out of it,_ she thought. _He was only being nice._

Still, he had shown her how much he cared, and that was something she'd been wanting for a long time.

Starting the car, she took a deep breath and cleared her head, trying not to allow for any distractions. She glanced back at Milner and Aubrey in the rear view mirror, and for a moment felt her consternation return. Foyle noticed, and quietly touched her hand where it rested on the shift. She bit her lip as she looked at it. She met his eyes again, and saw something unutterably kind in them. In that moment he was telling her everything would be fine - that they were safe, and that he trusted her.

Sam smiled and felt her fears vanish completely, and she started the motor and turned down the road toward the church.


	2. Chapter 2

The drive back to Hastings was long, and from the start Foyle knew Sam was unhappy. Sure, she'd had to say goodbye to her Uncle Aubrey, but something seemed to be bothering her.

In actuality, Sam's mind was plagued by numerous unpleasant matters, one of which was her sadness at the possibility that their little team might disband at any moment. First Mr. Foyle had mentioned retirement, then Milner…

And to top it all, her spine and neck were absolutely nackered from the accident earlier in the day. The only way she could comfortably sit was with one shoulder slightly above the other, and she knew Foyle would mention it sooner or later. With all that was going on, she didn't want to concern him with trifles like this.

The silence was broken by Milner.

"What do you think you'll use your half for, Sam?" he asked. Foyled looked back at him through the rearview mirror.

"Half of what?" he asked.

"Sam and I won the onion," he smiled, gesturing toward the driver's seat with his brow.

"Ohhh, right!" said Foyle with a frowning smile, his brows raised in amusement.

"Congratulations."

"I don't know when I last chopped an onion. I almost miss the tears," she said, attempting a lighthearted smile.

Foyle and Milner locked eyes, and they always did when Sam was being charming. Foyle hoped Milner didn't notice anything deeper in his countenance – though he certainly felt it behind his smile. Such things were hard for him to conceal, but he'd had plenty of time to practice.

They took a brief break at the halfway point, with Sam feigning a need to stretch her legs. Really, it was her spine in need of a stretch, and her neck had started to throb.

They all got out of the car once it was safely parked beside the road near a particularly peaceful stretch of field and trees. Milner took the opportunity to tend to his gammy knee, while Sam casually strolled further toward the hedgerow.

'Do you think Sam looks alright?' Foyle asked, seating himself next to Milner on the end of the pavement.

Milner looked up momentarily before refocusing his attention on relieving the pressure of his knee brace.

'I think something's on her mind,' he said, softly.

 _No,_ Foyle thought, _that isn't it._

When something was on Sam's mind, she certainly looked out of sorts, as she had the last hour or so. But, this was different. Occasionally she'd wince, ever so slightly. Especially when she changed gears or checked the mirrors.

She also seemed impatient, which was far from normal. She usually approached every drive as an opportunity for discussion and found some way to enjoy herself – even when he himself was less inclined to talk.

After thinking this over a few minutes, Foyle got up and made his way slowly down the hill toward the hedgerow to join her.

'You feeling alright?' he asked, getting straight to the point.  
Sam had just been reaching up to massage her neck, and tried to mask her movements as an attempt to fix her hair.

'Er-yes! Of course! Why shouldn't I be?'

Foyle lifted an eyebrow, and Sam instantly lowered her gaze to the ground.

'It's not… too bad, sir. Really. I just need a bit of rest once we get home,' she said and he sucked the side of his cheek.

'Rrrrright,' he said, slowly.

'Truly, sir,' she said, desperately. 'I'm perfectly capable of doing my job. It's just a few sore muscles. Nothing to worry about.'

'There's nothing wrong with taking a break. When we get back, if you feel uncomfortable driving-'

'I can do it, sir' she insisted.

They were both quiet as they walked together further from the car. He wondered when they'd turn around and return to poor Milner, but she seemed determined to keep walking.

'Sam,' he started again, this time more gently. 'If you're hurt, you need to address it. You need to take care of yourself… just as you take care of us.'

She seemed struck by that last part, but she continued to stare ahead.

He saw her back stiffen one again as she closed her eyes from the sudden shock of pain. Then it was gone again.

He'd seen it happen – the details had all stood out to him in an almost clinical form:

The small of her back tightened, sending waves up through her spine and over her shoulders. He could see the offending spot, a mere 17 inches from his left hand. If only it weren't out of order for him to help her relieve the pain.

He felt his arm move involuntarily to her back, resting against her spine, which immediately became tense.

'You should sit down,' he said gently, his soft tone taking her by surprise.

She felt the fluttering in her stomach return as she took his advice, seating herself on a large downed log beside a nearby oak.

'What can I do?' he asked, not sure what he expected to hear.

She was similarly perplexed, though she knew the only way he could really help was to tend to her back and neck. She was not about to ask him for such a thing.

'It will be set to rights, sooner or later,' she said with a small smile.

He nodded, eyes lowered to the painful spot.

Without speaking, he shifted slightly before gently pressing the small of his hand against the stuck joints.

'There?" he asked quietly. She nodded, eyes shut again as she held her breath. He nodded, surveying her twisted seating position and tilted shoulders. Clearly there was more amiss than she'd let on, though he was already pushing his luck as it was. He wasn't about to give her any more nonsense to worry about.

'How's your head?' he asked, eying her brow and remembering the sight of her bloody face once she'd gained consciousness. The thought momentarily left him queasy, with a slight tingling in his hands. He was relieved as the sensation started to fade.

'I've a bit of a headache,' she said, 'I think I'll just have a hot compress before bed. Should help a bit.'

'You're sure you won't see a doctor?'

'There are more important patients than me,' she said. 'I'm sure it'll all be fine.'

'Thought as much,' he murmured to himself as his brows creased with supplication.

He was becoming increasingly aware that his hand was still resting on the small of Sam's back. Reluctantly he drew it away.

Sam made a motion to get up, but caught herself off-guard and strained neck and shoulder. She yelped before she could stop herself, freezing in place as she waited for the bolt of pain to subside. The sound had made Foyle jump, his heart clenching in empathy as he tried to think of some way to help. When he realized he couldn't, he simple held her arm and back protectively, as if holding her still would somehow help.

'You alright?' he asked breathlessly after allowing her a moment to collect herself.

The sudden pain had left a massive crack in her brave façade, and Sam knew she could no longer pretend everything was alright. There, with Foyle's arms around her and the cool early drops of evening showers falling from overhead, Sam's shoulders shook as she succumbed to her exhaustion.

As a tear escaped her downturned eyes, Foyle's sheepishness seemed to vanish for a moment. His hand lowered to hold her hand, which he was startled to find had turned cold in the shifting breeze.

He squeezed the hand tightly as he shifted to face her full-on.

'Sam, you don't have to drive. Let Milner take over. You can sit in the back. Really, you shouldn't strain yourself anymore.'

'I think I'm just tired, and it's making the pain worse.'

'Even so, that's just as bad,' he said, trying to make eye contact with her, which had suddenly become rather difficult.

The rain was now starting to come down steadily, and Foyle could see Milner standing again and trying to wave them back to the car.

For a moment he looked back at Milner, who immediately called out to them about the need to return to the car.

'Get in, we're coming back!' Foyle called back, waving Milner into the car. Milner didn't need convincing, and swiftly vanished into the back.

Foyle turned back to Sam.

'Look, Sam, we've got to get out of this rain. The last thing you need is pneumonia as well. Come on.' With that, he helped her return to her feet, and supported her arm in his as they made their way back to the Wolseley.

'I'll be fine driving, sir. I can make it work, I have until now.' continued Sam after a short pause. Foyle shook his head in disbelief. _Injured or not, she's still obstinate,_ he thought. Still, he had to admit, he would have her no other way.

'If you're sure. But if you do, you've got to promise you'll visit a doctor,' he said.

Sam thought for a moment and sighed as he reached out to open the door for her.

'Righto, sir' she said, giving a small smile as she climbed into the driver's seat.


	3. Chapter 3

It was past supper time when they'd returned to Hastings. Sam had been instructed to drop Milner off at home directly, and the drive to Mr. Foyle's house was very quiet.

Something about the silence made Sam's heart jump anxiously – perhaps the memory of his hands holding her, or his kindness and quiet concern as they'd sat together earlier. Whatever it was, it made their current situation almost uneasy. Like there was an important conversation coming their way. Sam wasn't sure if she wanted it to come or not.

Finally, she pulled the parking break and settled the car outside his front door.

'Here you are, sir,' she said, tiredly.

But he didn't respond. She looked over and saw him gazing out the window, his left index finger absent-mindedly tracing the line of his lips. He came back to earth suddenly and returned her look directly.

'Sam, how far is your house from here?' he asked. Sam was taken aback, but thought it over.

'Probably about five minutes. I'm a few streets over.'

'Why don't you stay here tonight?' he asked in as unassuming a manner as he could. 'A quick dinner and you can sleep in Andrew's room. You're clearly exhausted, and I'd just feel better knowing you were safely in bed. Besides, someone has to be sure you see a doctor in the morning.'

Sam was surprised at the offer. Hadn't he had enough of her for one day? She'd stayed in Andrew's room for about a week after her billet had been bombed, so perhaps he wasn't as uncomfortable with the idea as before.

But, still, the fluttering in her stomach was taking over now, shifting and twisting into something rather unpleasant. She wasn't entirely sure what was happening.

Then again, the idea of sleeping ahead of schedule was infinitely appealing.

Foyle saw this internal dialogue playing out across Sam's face, and his lips twitched slightly as he tried not to show his amusement.

'Obviously, you don't have to if you're not comfortable. Just wanted to offer,' he said, hoping he hadn't seemed forward. Lord knows, he felt it himself – but the image of an overworked Sam lying on the side of the road at night was thoroughly unsettling, and once it presented itself, he was unable to shake it.  
Finally, she decided.

'You're sure you don't mind, sir?'

'Nnnot at all.'

 _Don't look too cheerful_ , he reminded himself internally.

Sam cut the engine and surprised him with a light and relieved (albeit tired) smile.

'Thank you, sir,' she beamed.

Foyle climbed out of the car, taking his bag with him. Sam turned to reach for her own overnight bag, but paused as the ache in her neck reappeared with a vengeance. Foyle quickly took up the task and plucked her small carpetbag out from behind her before she could protest. He would hear none of her protestations as he led the way into the house.

'Make yourself comfortable. I'm just going to put on something hot.' He had already set down the bags at the foot of the stairs and was making his way toward the kitchen as he said this.

'I hope you don't mind soup. Haven't been to the shops in a while-'

'No, thank you, that sounds perfect,' said Sam, removing her gloves and hat and setting them on the end table by the sofa.

Looking around, Sam couldn't believe she had lived here at one time. It was a lovely, comfortable house, but knowing how she felt about him now she'd started to think back on that time as though it was all a dream.

Now she was back in his living room, preparing to take a late supper and retire to Andrew's room once again. With her nerves kicking into high gear, she was suddenly anxious to go upstairs. But all thoughts of making a hasty escape were dashed when Mr. Foyle came into the room with a small tray.

'It's nothing much,' he said apologetically, setting the tray on the end table.

Soup was all Sam was up to at the moment, and she assured him it was just fine.

Foyle chalked her swift selection of a bowl and spoon as a sign she was famished. He was only half correct.

They sat in silence for a few minutes finishing their soup and toast, Foyle enjoying a glass of whiskey in the process. Sam declined his offer of a stiff drink, though she was confident she could have used one.

After a few moments of staring into his whiskey, Foyle broke the silence.

'Sam, you mustn't put yourself at risk simply to save others the trouble of helping you.'

Sam was surprised at this and decided she'd had enough soup for now, setting it back on the tray as she struggled to find a response.

'… Sir?'

'You've got to take care of yourself. Now, I know I've no right to tell you what to do or how to live, but I _do_ have a few more years of experience, and I just want to remind you that…' he pause, considered, and slowly continued. 'Your dedication is admirable. Just don't put your needs aside for others. And that includes me.'

Sam's hands were clenched in her lap, and she felt her thumbs fiddling awkwardly. She was always uncomfortable when confronted by authority figures… especially him.

'Now, just forget you heard that last part,' he teased gently, giving her another of his subtle downturned smiles as he leaned back in his chair.

She had to return his smile at this.

'I have been trying to think of myself more lately, but I suppose it's not how I was brought up,' she said. 'I was always told to put others first and manage your own affairs later.'

He cocked his head slightly, nodding in recognition of her family's values.

'Wull, far be it for me to undermine your upbringing,' he said, adjusting his waist jacket and making himself more comfortable. 'That's a very decent way of thinking. But, when it comes to your health, I think you mmmight want to consider being a bit more selfish.'

She was fully smiling now, and the beauty of that smile brought new light into his eyes. This was the only thing he couldn't control – Foyle had mastered the art of hiding his true affection for Sam under quiet nods and slow blinks, but at his very core, his soul inevitably gave him away.

Sam saw his eyes shining in her direction, and though she couldn't believe she was interpreting it correctly, her heart started to beat faster.

'After all… you _are special_ , Sam,' he murmured, his gaze deepening just a bit more. 'We don't want to lose you… _I_ don't want to lose you.'

The force of these final words forced his eyes down into his glass again. Panic was bubbling up inside Foyle's gut, and he knew he couldn't keep talking this way. He'd already said too much.

 _No more whiskey, I think_ , said the rational voice inside his head.

He set down his glass.

His words meant a great deal to Sam, who made a note to remember every detail of this moment so she might go over it again later that night while she lay in bed. She must remember the kind tone of his voice, the look in his eyes, the sound of the house settling around them. Everything.

There were so many things she wanted to say and prioritizing her thoughts was becoming more challenging by the minute.

' "Lose me"?' she asked quietly. 'What do you mean?'

Foyle was frustrated with himself for opening this Pandora's Box. If only he could shut the lid, but he knew that was impossible now.

'Well...' he muttered, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

'And, I'm sorry to say so, sir, but I'm not the one who's considering leaving the police.' She hadn't meant to say that, and her shock at her own bitterness made her breath freeze once the words had escaped her lips.

Her words had stung, he had to admit that, but they were nonetheless true. He knew he'd have to address this sooner or later with Sam, and perhaps he shouldn't have brushed her aside so coldly when she'd tried to discuss the matter with him earlier.

And apart from all this, she had a point. What did he mean when he said he didn't want to lose her? He had planned to leave the police, so what was he implying? Had he said something he shouldn't have?

 _Oh, God, everything's gone pear-shaped so quickly_ … _Damn!_

'I'm sorry, sir,' she said, her eyes expressing her deep mortification. She looked as thought she might cry again.

'I didn't mean-'

'No, I know you didn't,' he said, trying to smile with his eyes, but finding it very hard.

'And you're right. I guess part of me was hoping that when I retired you'd leave with me. This all started when I requested a driver,-' he said, gesturing in her direction with his whiskey, which had somehow made its way back into his hand, 'so, it's my job to find you... a suitable replacement.'

Sam hadn't considered this. To some degree she'd concluded that she would be sent back to the MTC if Mr. Foyle left the police. This new possibility for employment certainly brightened things up a bit. Still, she needed clarification.

'Do you want me to drive you?' she pressed. Her eyes were flashing excitedly again.

He looked rather uneasy now, and he stood up to return his glass to sit with its kin beside the decanter.

'I don't know yet, Sam. We'll figure something out,' he muttered most unsatisfactorily. Sam wasn't about to let it rest there.

'Sir,' she started, shifting closer to the edge of her seat. 'Why would you lose me?'

For a moment he stood motionless, with his back to her as he thought of a good enough response. Finally he turned and seated himself beside her on the setae.

'I was trying to… that is…' her eyes were unnervingly direct now, and though they were emploring and gentle their expression seemed to ring his heart out.

'Sam… I couldn't have borne it if you had died in that accident,' he said as his throat started to close with the unsavory notion.

Her gaze lowered to the carpet at this.

'You're too important, Sam,' he continued, holding her hand for the second time today.

'And I know it wasn't that serious a crash, but if it had been… It made me realize how dreadful it would be to see you there…' he trailed off, and the distance in his eyes told Sam he was picturing the scene again: her seemingly lifeless form against the wheel, face bloodied, hair covering the worst of it. _How many times had he pictured this scene?_ She wondered.

Sam had nothing to say. She wanted more than anything to say something reassuring and lift that pained expression from his face. But, while she could have reminded him she hadn't died – he hadn't lost her – she knew that didn't matter.

All she could think to do was to reassuring him wordlessly. With a gesture. Something.

His hands were both wrapped around hers, she noticed. She then raised his hands to her lips and kissed them passionately. Surprisingly passionately, in fact. Sam didn't know why, but she suddenly found herself unable to hold back her feelings in this moment.

Foyle's lashes fluttered slightly as he took in what was happening. He wanted more than anything to be the one doing this for her – and more besides. His eyes smiled for a moment before he stopped himself.

'Sam-' he murmured with an agonized crease of his brow. Sam refused to listen.

'No, sir,' she said, resting her forehead on his hands. 'No, I won't let go.'

'I know. That's what I'm afraid of.'

She looked up to see if he meant it. His eyes fixed hers with a mixture of interest and disappointment. She could only hope the latter was not because of her.

'Why should you be afraid of it?' she asked, feeling slightly lightheaded. Surely this couldn't be happening. Had she just done that? Would he throw her out?

'Because I'm still your boss, and… it wouldn't be proper.' His words were so soft Sam realized she'd held her breath the whole time.

No. NO! No, she'd waited too long to let this excuse deter her. He clearly didn't want that either, she could see it in his face.

'Sir, you can't mean it. You can't!'

'Sam, please,' he looked so mortified she wondered if he might cry. 'Please, don't say it-'

'I'm not ashamed to. Because… because I rather think I love you - I have for quite some time now, and if I don't tell you now I might never have the strength.' This came out quickly, even for Sam, and she felt certain she couldn't have stopped if she'd wanted to.

She'd done it. She wasn't sure she felt better, for now Foyle's eyes were closed. He was taking in what she'd said, yet even once she'd finished he fixed his eyes on her fidgeting hands rather than face her.

The silence seemed endless. In actuality, it was perhaps five seconds.

'Please say something,' she begged.

His mouth opened and closed several times as he tried to formulate a sentence.

'Was I wrong? Do you _not_ feel the same?' She wanted to die on the spot, and if he said her feelings weren't returned she was sure she would.

After a moment he answered.

'Of course I do,' he whispered, creased eyes finally meeting hers. Sam thought they'd never been lovelier than they were at this moment.

'But it's not right.'

'You said this would be your last case with the police, yes? Well, you've solved the case, and until you offer me another job I'm no longer your driver!' This was rather a desperate ploy, and she saw that he recognized that. Still, his eyes began to glow again, and she thought she even caught a ghost of a smile cross his lips. Just for a moment.

'I don't see what's so wrong about caring for someone,' she added.

'It's against protocol,' he muttered lamely.

'Surely that's not your best excuse'

'Certainly not. What if someone else found out?'

'Are you ashamed, sir?' she asked.

'Nnno, of course not, but if we were found out it could stir up all sorts of ethical concerns,' he said, fully drawn into her eyes at this point, looking from one to the other as though fervently trying to find a shred of reason within them.

'Such as?'

'Wull, there's my age for a start. I'm much too old for you.'

'I don't think so. Besides, I don't care. It doesn't matter!'

'Yes it does, Sam. You need someone who can keep up with you-'

'Ever since I started here, I've been trying to keep up with _you,_ ' Sam said, remembering her first week on the job and how she'd helped him chase down countless criminals ever since.

'Nonetheless, what would your friends say that if they knew?' he asked, raising a sardonic eyebrow.

'I don't know about you, sir, but I'm rather good at keeping secrets,' said Sam somewhat cheekily. The glint of mischief in her eyes made Foyle chuckle despite himself.

This was her moment, before he could protest again.

Summoning all her might, she took a deep breath and kissed his cheek, resting there a moment to see if he'd respond to her gesture.

He did.

A slight grunt of dismay came from his throat, but even he couldn't deny how lovely she was at this moment. Cautiously, he reached to hold her arm with one hand, thinking perhaps he could push her away.

 _Nope, not possible,_ he thought as he felt her soft skin against him.

He had exhausted the last of his restraints against her, and now, with a gentle prompt, he left them behind willingly. Finally, he could hold her freely, and without fear of judgment, and his happiness at reaching this point was almost agonizing.

Holding her waist, he drew her close and breathed in her familiar aroma. It was warm and comforting.

He took a quick moment to take in her expression. He had to smile at her look of utter euphoria. His hand on her jaw, he tilted her lips toward his and kissed her deeply.

As she wrapped her arms around his neck she heard him sigh contentedly against her, lips still connected.  
She couldn't believe this was happening. Finally.

'You're so bloody stubborn' he whispered warmly as he rested his brow against hers.

She smiled.

'I learned from the best,' she replied. He laughed quietly, resting her head against his shoulder.

'Glad I could help,' was all he could think to say.


	4. Chapter 4

Sam's joy was briefly interrupted by the now too-familiar pain resurging through her neck and shoulders. She'd been attempting to raise and wrap her arm around Foyle's neck, but was forced to stop, if only until the pain subsided.  
Noticing this, Foyle's hand drifted down her back to rest on the painful joint he'd located earlier. Now, however, he wasn't afraid to touch her. That is, within the bounds of decency.

Gently, he held her closer, stroking her spine and resting a long, heavy kiss on the top of her head.

'Perhaps it's a good thing,' he said, unexpectedly. 'Someone's telling us to get some sleep.'

'No,' she groaned before she could stop herself.

Foyle smiled and closed his eyes for a moment, before slowly releasing her from his grasp.

'C'mon. Let's get something for that ache of yours,' he said standing and offering her his hand.

'Gah– it's awful!' she moaned as they walked to the kitchen. Foyle put the kettle on before rummaging through the cupboards for a soft towel.

'And so inconvenient. I don't know what could have happened.'

'You hit the wheel quite hard, Sam. I wouldn't be surprised if you've sprained something in the process – which is why we're taking you to the surgery first thing,' Foyle said, setting a clean towel in the sink and drenching it in scalding water. He then took a pair of long-unused tongs from a nearby drawer, and began to wring it out.

'What's that for?' Sam asked apprehensively.

'Don't worry, it'll cool down soon enough. It's all I could think of for now, and I find it helps.'

Sam seated herself at the table and became increasingly aware of how late it was. Still, she didn't want to go to bed. She didn't want to leave his company so soon after the conversation they'd just had. She wanted to stay with him, though she knew she couldn't ask for such a thing.  
As Foyle finished preparing her hot compress, she started to remove the pins from her hair. The relief she felt letting her hair out of it's tight curls was marvelous, almost negating the ache needling at her neck.

Foyle turned to speak, but stopped himself for a moment, observing Sam removing the pins. Leaning against the sink, he crossed his arms in front of him, his eyes shining with admiration. She caught a glimpse of herself reflected in the kitchen window, and was appalled by the state of her tresses. Foyle, however, thought her beautiful - even when she was unkempt. Especially so, in fact.  
'You look... lovely,' he said, once he'd found the right word.  
She scoffed, waving off the compliment.

'There's no need for flattery, sir, I know I look dreadful. I _feel_ dreadful,' she said, resting her elbows on the table as she hide her face in her hands.

'Never mind. We'll soon have you out of that uniform.'

He hadn't meant his words to come out this way, and he swiftly turned, under the pretext of testing the state of the compress. Sam noticed his ears appeared very red. She felt a slight tingling sensation in her veins. Still, his discomfort made her smile.

'That's, er... not what I meant,' he said sheepishly.

'No, of course,' she said, staring down into her hands. They were twisting together again, just as they had earlier, though she wasn't quite sure why. Something felt strange, as though she wanted something from him, but didn't know what...

They were silent for a moment before Foyle finally picked up the still-steaming compress. He rolled it up quickly, and walked over to hold it to her throbbing neck. She couldn't see him behind her, but she heard a rustling as if he were shifting his weight. She then felt his strong jaw tickle her as he kissed the sensitive spot between jaw and ear.

When he gently nibbled her ear, her shoulders gave her away, raising up around her neck - which was very inconvenient and uncomfortable. She was unable to control herself, however, as the hair on her arms and neck seemed to suddenly stand on end, goosebumps raising up her spine.  
Foyle felt the chill. He wrapped his arms tightly around her, seating himself in a chair next to her, and playfully growling into her hair.

Sam laughed, despite the soreness slowly creeping back up her spine. Her sudden stiffness warned Foyle not to be too rough with her.  
He was only too happy to do so, though he had to admit privately, it was rather less fun...

'Sir-'

'Sam... please, don't... call me that,' he said awkwardly, and she could see his hooded eyes cautiously peering up at her from beneath his mortified brows. '...Nnnot at this particular moment.'

'I'm sorry, s-...I'm sorry.'

'Don't be,' his eyes smiled again. 'What did you want to say?'

'Wait, what do I call you now?' she asked, momentarily distracted now.

'By my name, I'd imagine. Or anything else you see fit,' he said, slowly returning to kissing her jaw. 'Continue.'

'Detective Chief Superintendent-'

'Worse' he murmured.

'-I was wondering... what happens now.'

He stopped his nonsense and straightened up, seriously considering her question.

'Well... Nothing, if you don't want to.'

'No, I mean in general,' she said, her heart suddenly jumping at his uncharacteristic misinterpretation.

Indeed, he seemed ashamed for having misunderstood her, and attempted to ignore his reddening ears again.

'...What do you want to happen?" He was looking very seriously into her eyes.

'I want for us to keep this going,' she said, her voice becoming soft and shy. She was starting to feel self-conscious all of a sudden.

He nodded, then took a deep breath.

'I'll admit, I want that as well. Even though I know it could get me sacked,' he said.

'Good thing you wanted to leave the force, then,' she smirked. He chucked again.

'Yes, I suppose so,' he said, somewhat quietly.

There was another pause, then...

'I do want to, though,' she whispered, forcing her retreating gaze up to meet his.

He didn't misinterpret her this time.

His face became serious once more, and his brows lowered, almost sternly. He swallowed before speaking.

'Sam, I wasn't trying-'

'No, I know. But I do.'

He was quiet, and his eyes wondered down to rest on her hand on her knee.

'Sam...'

'Yes?'

He appeared to be having trouble finding words, but finally he managed it.

'I don't want you to feel you have to. You don't. I'd be happy to wait.'

'But _I_ wouldn't,' she said, feeling her strength returning.

She started to smile, though his eyes still showed his concern.

'Are you sure, Sam?' he asked softly.  
She answered him by leaning in and kissing him, softly, but with intent. It seemed to translate well, for his hands rose to hold her sided and draw her closer to him.  
'Agh!' she grunted suddenly, as her neck twisted slightly wrong.

'Let's wait until you're better,' he said. She thought she heard anxiety in his voice.

'If... If you don't want-... I'm sorry. You're right, we shouldn't,' she said quitely, losing all her former confidence.

Did he not want her now? Was she pushing him away? Her fears were multiplying by the millisecond, and she chided herself inwardly for having appeared over-eager.

Foyle, naturally, was reading her face and felt a pang of guilt.

'That's... not quite what I said,' he muttered, scratching his temple as he thought of what to say to reassure her.

'I just meant... Look, Sam...'

She couldn't look, she was too busy hiding her embarrassment.

'Sam, please look at me.'

When she couldn't, he tilted her chin toward him to meet her eyes.

'Sam, to be perfectly honest, I'm afraid of you waking up in the morning and... regretting it,' he said, his voice becoming a whisper as he struggled to complete the sentence.

'I'm utterly certain I won't, dearest,' she said, deciding on her name for him.

Her use of the word sparked a surprised glimmer in his eyes.

'You can't know that,' he said, hoarsely.

'I may not be able to tell the future, but I can tell you that I love you. And right now, I know that I want... to know you better,' she said. She couldn't quite bring herself to use the more direct language others seemed to use to define what she wanted. She was a vicar's daughter, after all.  
Growing up, she had always firmly believed she would wait until marriage. In fact, she'd believed it up until this very moment. Now, she couldn't quite explain it, but she knew it would matter just as much now as it would once they'd married.  
Married... what a lovely prospect, she thought for a moment.

Foyle had considered her words, and gave her as comforting a smile as he could manage, taking a deep breath.

'My God, so do I,' he said suddenly, leaning in to kiss her neck.

Her hand reached up to run her fingers through his hair as she held him tightly.

He lifted her out of her chair and carried her out into the hall, leading to the stairs. Before they could ascend the stairs, however, Sam broke their kiss and looked up at him seriously. He saw a tinge of fear in her eyes, and it squeezed at his heart. He knew what she was going to say, and he'd been hoping he'd never hear it.

'You should know... I haven't, ehm...' she couldn't bring herself to make eye contact as she struggled to find the words.  
'This, ehm...'

He looked up the stairs toward the bedroom, brows creased, as he considered whether to cut her off there. A ghost of a smile crept to the corner of his mouth. He decided to be merciful.

'I know' he said gently, before meeting her eyes again.

She was surprised, but quickly realized she shouldn't be. After all, he was nothing if not observant.

'Sorry,' he added, somewhat sheepishly, 'It's a... force of habit.'

'Is it that obvious?' she asked, smiling curiously.

'When you know what to look for,' he said, his eyes lost in hers, examining them closely as though he were looking for it now.

'You don't mind?' she asked, so quietly he wondered if she really wanted an answer.

'I won't pretend it doesn't matter,' he said as gently as he could. '...But that's only because I want to do you justice.'

What he didn't say was that this applied not just to their present situation, but to all aspects of his life. Ever since she'd joined him at the wheel, Foyle had always felt protective of her. It was natural, he'd told himself, and indeed it was. After all, she was a very young woman in a decidedly unfriendly world.

However, he'd soon come to find he payed more attention to his actions when Sam was present. He felt her eyes on him when he wasn't looking, and so he'd begun to read reports more slowly. To dress more particularly. Even to chastise his officers for using foul language in her presence. All of it, he realized, was for her. He wanted everything to be right for her, and that included himself. He still wasn't sure if he'd achieved his goal, though something must have worked.

'You always have,' she said kindly, kissing him on the cheek. He smiled again, their eyes agreeing with one another, as they climbed the stairs to his bedroom.


	5. Chapter 5

**Writer's Note** : Evening all! I apologize for the long gap between chapters - I've been forced to juggle a lot of school and work things and didn't have a great deal of artistic energy during the whole mess. Thank you to all of my regulars who've been so patient and supportive - you're a lovely bunch :)

p.s. Not sure if this comes across in my previous writings, but this foray into more *ahem* risqué territory is rather foreign to me, and I've been struggling to find a way to present this chapter in a suitable fashion.  
With that said, I hope you'll find this chapter satisfactory - while still respectful of this couple's more private intimacies.

* * *

After crossing the threshold and seating Sam on his bed, Foyle felt his mind racing. His hands began to shake when she gently kissed his cheek, as though their proximity was chilling him. He attempted to look casual as he steadied himself against the nearest bedpost,  
but Sam noticed - choosing to say nothing, even as she felt her admiration for him wringing her heart.

Something in his eyes seemed different, though. He didn't quite look fearful, but there was a definite air of concern that worried her. She hoped he wasn't second guessing himself.  
'S-... Dearest-' she restarted, 'Are you alright?'

'Yessss... I was just realizing it's been... rather a long time since I last did this,' he said carefully, not meeting her eyes. 'I'm not sure if I have the- ehm... necessary... well, you know.'

Sam felt stupid as he said this, for she didn't know.  
It showed in her eyes. Foyle made another attempt. _Probably best to be direct,_ he thought.

'Sam, I promise you that no matter what happens, I will keep you safe,' he said earnestly, holding her gaze so firmly they hardly blinked. 'I don't intend to do this without protection.'

'Ah,' she murmured, feeling her face tingle, as though her circulation had slowed. She was looking slightly pail, he noticed. Perhaps the thought of pregnancy frightened her?

'We've got to be practical,' he said as softly as possible, seating himself and holding her hand as he spoke. 'And if we can't do this safely tonight, I'd feel better if we waited until after I visit the chemist.'

All of a sudden, Sam's expression became unintelligible. Foyle considered himself adept at reading facial expressions, but something about her peculiar combination of dawning realization and subtle triumph was not immediately clear to him.

'I may have something,' she said as she stood and quickly excused herself from the room.  
He stood, perplexed, waiting for her to return from her sudden trip downstairs to the front parlor.

 _Why would she have something?_ he wondered. _Where would she-..._ Surely she hadn't prepared for such a contingency. If she had, that would suggest a level of assuredness the likes of which he had never noticed in her.

Sam returned shortly afterward, holding a small square envelope with a familiar label.

'Here you are,' she said, somewhat too matter-of-factly as she handed it to him. 'Never thought I'd need to use it, of course, but... well, there it is.'

'Where'd you get this, Sam?' he asked, brow furrowed as he examining the expiry date – still good, though probably on its last legs.

'The MTC. One of our more... lenient commanding officers gave these out when we were assigned our billets. Said we shouldn't mention it to anyone, but shouldn't be, eh... stupid, either.' She sounded carefree, but Foyle noticed her rocking slightly back and forth, as though she were trying to steady her nerves.

The corner of Foyle's mouth was twisting slyly despite himself as he took in her words. He was surprised anyone would provide these to MTC trainees, though he suspected it was hardly standard procedure.  
Still, he had to admit, he was thankful for the forethought.

She smiled and her eyes closed, and Foyle felt his breathing stop for a brief moment when he saw her brow twitch slightly – a tell-tale sign of insecurity, he thought.

 _Possibly embarrassment, too,_ he added, _judging by her hands_ (losing a bit of color with the tightness of their interlocked position).

He wished he wasn't noticing so many signs, but now he couldn't stop. The somewhat tense shoulders - not helped by her strained neck and spine post-accident, but still -, the small tapping motion in her right foot, her shallow breathing... her nervousness was painfully obvious, and he wanted to reassure her, somehow.

'Come here,' he said quietly, drawing her toward him and seating her once again on the bed. She wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him closely and trying not to strain her neck in the process.

'I'm sorry, sir,' she said, her old vocabulary slipping back.  
He pretended not to notice.

'Don't be sorry, Sam,' he said soothingly. His hand rested on the back of her head while his fingers glided through her hair. 'Perfectly normal.'

'I'm not changing my mind,' she said hurriedly. 'I just can't seem to shake this... this...-'  
He waited as she tried to put her feelings into words, but she seemed too disappointed with herself to find the right expression.  
He paused before offering his assistance.

'Shall I venture an observation?' he asked gently.  
She nodded, seemingly relieved.

He spoke slowly, planning each sentence before he uttered it.

'It's normal to be afraid of the pain - and I promise, I will do my best to prevent that. Still, I think there's more to it.'  
Her lashes fluttered slightly as she became uneasy. She knew he was seeing right through her.

'Judging from the way you present yourself, I know you set very high personal standards, and consequently I'd imagine those are rather difficult to meet on all counts. Granted you do very well, but in this particular area, you mmmight be suspecting that your... inexperience leaves you at a disadvantage... which may be true, but isn't entirely fair.'

His eyes showed some sadness at this last part. Her cheeks were flushed again, though her eyes told him he was right.  
He went on carefully, not sure if he was doing more harm than good.

'And based on your work ethic, I'd imagine you're probably, ehm...' here he had some trouble saying the words. He forced them out after a laborious pause, 'afraid of disappointing me...'

Her eyes now filled with tears. He had been intently focused on her hand, grasped warmly in both of his. But now he looked into her eyes again, and he felt his empathy chilling him inside.

'Is that correct?' he whispered.

Once he'd finished she pulled him into a deep, slow kiss - her head tilting slightly to accommodate for the painful jolt that went surging up her spine.  
He held her close, closing his eyes as he felt her take calming breaths against his ear. In that moment, his love for her burned in his chest, and he felt his lungs shrinking against the weight of it.

'You couldn't possibly disappoint me, Sam' he cooed, cradling her neck in his hand gently. He had to remember to make his every movement slow and cautious, for fear of further injuring her.  
She felt his attentiveness, and the comfort it conveyed warmed her insides like a fresh cup of coffee.

'You're too good,' she said, slowly starting to regain a sense of control. He kissed her forehead.

'...I think not,' he said, his downturned smile making another appearance, much to her delight. His eyes crinkled in that familiar, beautiful manner that had so captivated her on their first meeting, and she knew, finally, that she was truly comfortable.

'I don't, er... suppose she taught you all how to use these...?' He said, eyeing the square envelope - still in his hand.  
She shook her head, meeting his gaze cautiously. He considered for a moment.

'Wull, shall I?' he asked, his eyes shining with mischief as he gave her his signature shy smile.  
She returned the favor, chuckling despite her red face.

His smile widened, twisting a bit as he leaned forward. Before attempting to open the small envelope, he gently kissed her again, his hand resting just under her jaw, careful not to move too much, in case she should strain herself.

'This could be a challenge,' he murmured, his eyes glinting at her. 'Don't want you to hurt yourself again.'  
She was quiet a moment as he lifted her hands to the buttons on his shirt, and waited patiently for her to undo them. Her hands shook slightly, and he was torn between admiration and sympathy. As she reached the last one he held her hands in his and rested his forehead on her for a moment.

They were silent for a moment. She felt her blood turning warmer, her face flushing and pulse rising. He then lifted one of her hands to his lips, kissing it soundly as he breathed in her smell.

With that she felt stronger, and she became bolder in following through on her curiosity - for she was curious. She'd never seen him without a shirt, without a facade. Without decorum. She wondered if such a version of him could exist, and she was determined to find out.

When she was free to gaze at him she felt a tingle in her stomach. So, he was human after all, she though cheekily. And his sturdy frame suddenly appeared even more impressive than it had felt before, resting against her or holding her closely. His chest was strong, and his arms were as well. He didn't quite look like the shirtless men she'd seen photos of in some of the MTC girls' photo collections - he was somewhat softer looking in a few places - but she found she preferred this man to the made-up airmen of her early imaginings.

His hands moved to rest on her sides, and she knew he was going slowly for her benefit. She looked into his eyes to reassure him that it was alright, and as she saw in his eyes that same affectionate glow she'd noticed earlier that evening, she was overwhelmed with love for him. _He really does love me, doesn't he?_ She thought.  
Indeed, in that moment he was making a silent promise - to himself and to her - that he would show her the magnitude of that love. To be vulnerable to her in a way he hadn't been with a woman for many... many years. And, above all else, to be magnanimous in everything he did.

As her blouse, then skirt, vanished, Sam become aware of how large his hands were as they held her hips. She felt so totally safe in them, as though their warmth and gentleness would protect every inch of her they touched.  
When he lifted away her shift she became self-conscious again, covering her chest involuntarily with one arm. She couldn't meet his eyes, but in her peripherals she saw his brow furrow and his head cock to the side slightly.

'...Sam' he said softly as he leaned in closer, 'You don't have to hide yourself from me.'

His tone was so warm and reassuring that for a moment she felt silly. But when the ghost of a smile came back to his lips, her tension left her, and he brushed her arm away and kissed her again - a traveling kiss that caressed her shoulders, collarbone, and chest.

'You're so utterly beautiful,' he murmured as his hands curved over and down her sides and rising up her thighs. She felt her heartbeat quicken as he kissed her naval. He was becoming unpredictable.

Then he returned to gaze down from above her, his hand near her shoulder supporting him as he took the small envelope and handed it to her.

'Here,' he murmured flirtatiously. 'Care to learn a new skill?'

* * *

Sam had appeared quite shocked when she saw him fully undressed. Her face had gone slightly pink, which he suspected was not uncommon for the uninitiated. However, she also had a look of determination in her eyes, which he'd not been prepared for.

As he guided her hands slightly, she become confident that she could finish the task herself.  
'Sh- Erm, be a bit more careful, if you please, Sam?' he asked as calmly as he could.

She suddenly became horrified.

'Have I hurt you? Oh dear, I'm so sorry-'

'No, no, just a bit, uh... Not necessarily unpleasant, but if it had got out of hand... Might cut the evening short a bit.'

She was still puzzled, and he couldn't help but smile.  
'Don't worry,' he said simply, bowing to kiss her stomach again, tenderly. 'All in good time.'

* * *

He was careful to watch her eyes - determined not to push her to far. She didn't appear to have any difficulties, which added considerably to his peace of mind. However, at one moment she seemed to be in pain, not due to his attentions, but to a twinge in her neck as it turned slightly too far.  
She yelped, and he felt his blood run cold for a moment.

'God-' he gasped in surprise. 'Are you hurt, Sam?' He noticed her shoulders twitch slightly as she resettled herself.  
'It's nothing,' she said, eager to dispel his concern and release the sudden tension that had arisen.

Sympathy mixed with the passion in his eyes, and he shifted to free one of his hands to cradle her neck at a more comfortable angle. He made a note every so often to make sure she wasn't straining it, supporting it whenever possible and taking the time to sooth her spine with his hands.  
She smiled as he did this. _Bless him for being observant,_ she thought.  
His attention to detail seemed on full display now, for in his fervor he found himself noticing her every response and adjusting accordingly. She, in turn, reciprocated by every means available to her, and wondered how any of this could possibly be real.  
As he wrapped his arms around her tenderly, she met his eyes and took a deep breath.

'Alright, love?' he asked.

She nodded quietly, her eyes closed.

'Yes. I'm fine' she said, barely breathing.

'Sure?' he asked, aware of a change of energy taking her over.

'Certain' she smiled.  
He was relieved.

Still, he was cautious and gentle, taking a few moments to stop and kiss her deeply. She heard him breathing steadily as he paused again, and she knew he was attempting to maintain some semblance of control.

'It's alright, dearest, I promise' she said, brushing his hair back with her hand, trying to be reassuring.

Before he could speak she pulled his head closer, kissing his brow and holding him close. She had persuaded him - though, in his present state of mind such persuasion was becoming less necessary.

As things progressed, she saw him become more vulnerable than she'd ever seen - his eyes expressing the true depths of his feelings as his brows creased and his hands gripped her tighter and pulled her closer. She had never heard his voice as she heard it now. Were she not in the same state herself, she perhaps might have thought him in agony or desperation. Her touch mirrored his, her arms wrapped around his shoulders as she sought to touch the curls on the nape of his neck.

Seeing her, become uninhibited for the first time, he was stunned at the notion that he had ever turned her head, that someone so lovely and passionate had fallen for someone so _stuffy and grim_ (as he put it). She was brimming with happiness, and her joy was evident in her eyes and in her every sound and expression. It was almost unbearably fortuitous.

But it was certain, as things gradually came to a joyful, breathless conclusion, that fortune had indeed brought them together. In fact it seemed nothing short of providential.

* * *

After inquiring (for what felt like the hundredth time) if she was alright, Foyle accepted her assurance - which now came in the form of a squeeze around the middle and a sardonic eyebrow.

'Are you?' she asked tentatively.

'You were left to doubt it?' he teased, raising his eyebrows and fixing her with a mock look of surprise.

She laughed and rested against his shoulder.

'No, but... well, you know what I mean, don't you?'

He kissed her hand, as he had before, and gazed at it for a minute before looking into her eyes.

'You're perfect, Sam. In every way,' he said, gently.  
She processed this before settling in once more against his side.

'Was it, eh... What you imagined?' he ventured cautiously.

'I think it was rather better,' she said, taking her own opportunity to nudge him. He checked her expression before pretending to narrow his eyes.

'Let's hope so' he returned, much to her amusement. 'You've had your ruddy way with me!'

They then rested in silence for a few minutes, enjoying the sound of the ocean - distant yet certainly distinguishable - through the open window. The cool breeze drifted in, wafting the curtains slowly, spectrally.

'It's so lovely not having to sleep alone,' she said before catching herself. Admitting this made her feel strangely unsettled - as if she'd given away some insecurity she'd hoped would die quietly within her. _Lord, I hope that didn't sound desperate,_ she thought.

He simply smiled at her, with both eyes and lips, and brushed her hair behind her ear.

'Certainly is,' he agreed.

Yes, they both realized in that moment - everything was finally perfect. It was with this final revelation that the evening came to a close, and the two of them strolled, arm-in-arm, into blissful sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

Writer's Note: To all those who've stuck with this story - thank you so much for your patience and steadfastness. I've left a more fleshed-out update on my profile, but I thought I'd quickly let you all know - this chapter is a bit shorter than the previous two chapters, but I wanted to get this up before I got sucked back into the black hole that is my academic life. I hope the shortness of chapter won't deter anyone - particularly since it's been such a while since the last chapter.

Any who, that's enough rambling. Thanks for reading, loves! :)

* * *

Waking with her legs tangled in momentarily unfamiliar sheets would have shocked Sam, had she not first felt the warm arm draped around her middle. There was a broad chest closely situated against her back and a reassuring slow breathing behind her.

After a moment of blissful relaxation she noticed that Foyle had already dressed, with a pressed, crisp white sleeve under her touch. She was confused and turned to look into his eyes. They opened and smiled down at her as only Foyle's eyes could.

Yes, he had fully dressed. All that was missing was a tie.

'Morning, love' he said, his voice couched in early-morning gruffness.

'Hello' she said, smiling. She felt a shaggy mess compared to him, though she didn't particularly care.

'You alright?' he asked, eyebrows twitching slightly as though he anticipated a negative.

'I'm wonderful, thanks,' she said, 'but why are you dressed in bed?'

He took a deep breath.

'Wullll, I woke about 20 minutes ago and thought I'd get myself in order, but, em… saw you here and… wanted to come back to you.'

His ears were a bit pink and one of his eyebrows lowered in embarrassment, but she smiled widely as she took in his words.

'You'll wrinkle your shirt,' she said, secretly hoping he wouldn't care enough to move.

'Doesn't matter. 'Ts not particularly important. Not right now.' He squeezed her affectionately around her middle and she felt goose bumps rise along her arms as she stretched against him.

'Good' she sighed, much to his amusement.

They took a few minutes to listen to the breeze drifting in from the open window, remembering what had happened last night.

Unfortunately, Sam was becoming increasingly aware of the stiffness in her neck coming back, only now it felt immobilizing. She tried to gently turn her head to her left side, only to feel every inch becoming increasingly difficult and painful.

Foyle noticed and reached up to place a hand to her shoulder.

'Anything I can do?' he asked softly.

She signaled with a very unconvincing, stiff little head shake. He looked skeptical.

'Let's go,' he said suddenly, pulling away from her and walking over to his wardrobe. She clutched the blanket higher over her arms, trying to replace the warmth that had just disappeared.

She had to turn herself entirely to watch him as he selected a tie from his collection.

'Not that one,' she said hoarsely after he'd selected a red one. He looked at her, surprised.

'Don't like it?' he asked.

'Just not with that waistcoat. Makes you look like a magician,' she said.

He narrowed his eyes playfully and twisted his mouth as he replaced the tie in its drawer. He picked out a dark green hounds tooth.

'Better,' she said after he wordlessly asked her opinion with a raised brow. He closed the drawer and began to tie it about his neck as he walked over to her side of the bed.

'What time is it?' she asked, closing her eyes.

'Time to take you to a doctor,' he said matter-of-factly.

She pulled his pillow from behind her and over her face.

'I told you, I'll be fine. Just let me rest and I'm sure it'll mend'

'Oh, is it much better this morning then?' he asked sarcastically.

She struggled to conjure up a witty remark, so she scoffed dejectedly instead.

'You're impossible,' she murmured.

'Always stubborn with my loved ones,' he said casually before kissing her shoulder.

 _Damn_ , she thought, peering out from under the pillow as he left the room. _I can't be angry with that._  
_

'You alright to drive, Sam?' he asked as they walked toward the car.

'Unless you'd rather we walked,' she said cheerily. He gave a rueful crooked smile.

'Wouldn't mind at all, if you'd prefer it,' he said.  
He seemed to be pushing slightly, as though he didn't want her to return to the wheel.

'I did fine yesterday, didn't I?' she asked somewhat defensively.

'Wull, yes, but-'

'So we'll drive,' she decided, opening his door for him. For a moment he stood, looking her in the eyes and reading her expression. She was determined – obviously, this was Sam, after all. He finally gave up, and his brows seemed to shrug as he took his seat.

* * *

The doctor Foyle had called was roughly ten minutes from his house. Foyle would have preferred to wait out in the car, but Sam had proven relentless in her insistence that he wait inside.

'I don't want to go in all alone,' she said, sounding almost like a child.

'Why? I can't go in with you, you're a grown woman, they'll think-' her expression interrupted him as she raised her eyebrows in anticipation of his next words.

'That we've done something very naughty?' she asked, placing mockingly posh emphasis on the word. It had the desired effect – the corners of his eyes creased uncomfortably as he shifted in his seat.

'God,' he muttered to himself, glancing out the window.

She chuckled before turning warm and reassuring.  
'But we haven't done anything wrong,' she said. He shifted again and turned his eyes toward the dashboard in front of him. He brushed his index finger absentmindedly across his lips, silently informing Sam that he didn't believe her. He stayed silent.

She then held his hand gently and waited until he returned her gaze.  
'We haven't,' she repeated, this time very softly. Her eyes smiled and he became lost in them for a moment. Slowly, beautifully, he smiled as well.

'Come on, let's get this over with,' she said suddenly before climbing out of the car. He closed his eyes and then joined her in walking her in to her appointment.

* * *

Her examination took no time at all. The doctor checked her breathing and all the usual guff before running his hand up and down her spine. She had a few vertebrae slightly out of place, which he corrected with a well-orchestrated prod that made Sam want to strike him. But after her adjustment he gave her his diagnosis and recommendation that she 'take things easy for a bit.'

Goodness, what a brilliant plan, she thought cynically, sliding from the exam table and fastening up her uniform jacket.

It pained her to see Foyle nervous for her. As she left the office and saw him waiting for her by the door she thought she caught a glimpse of what he'd been like when Rosalind was ill – fretting silently, resigned to the fact that things were out of his hands and hating every minute of helplessness.

Perhaps that's why he worries, she thought sadly.

When she'd left him waiting here she'd been struck by how stoic he'd become, sitting with a newspaper he'd hardly read.

Now, when she saw him look up at her, raising that brow of his, she saw two men: She saw the man she fancied, her boss, the one everyone thought they knew so well. Then there was this new man - perhaps the truest one; the man who kissed her shoulder and neck, whose breath caught in his chest when she shuddered against him - who lounged in bed without clothes on, his arm resting over his head as he surveyed her, unfiltered passion misting his blue eyes. The man who was more than just his mind.

He stood as she turned to shake the doctor's hand. He was ready to know the diagnosis.

'Just a pinched nerve,' she said in hushed tones as he handed over her hat and gloves.  
He ducked his head conspiratorially and surveyed her from under furrowed brows.

'What about your forehead?' he asked, still quietly. He tried not to remember how he'd reverently kissed that cut on her brow the night before – or any of the other places he'd kissed her.

'Nothing to worry about,' she said.

'Nothing I can do?' he asked gently, before peering out of his peripherals as though to ensure no one from the station might have followed them.

'I think not,' she said as she snapped the fastenings of her gloves. "Just said to use heat and cold… and that it will mend itself," she added rather smugly.

He gave her a familiar sardonic look as he held open the door for her.

'Still, no harm in asking for a diagnosis,' he said, settling into the car and adjusting his hat.

'I know, sir, and I'm jolly grateful,' she said, professional habit returning swiftly as they returned to their usual morning routine.

Sam would have given anything to make the drive to the station twice as long. Their silence was comfortable and somewhat intimate and she'd noticed one or two side-glances from the passenger seat she'd have loved to return. As it was, she was too afraid to take her eyes off the road.

But as they walked into the station Sam felt as thought everyone was staring at her. Indeed, Bookie and one of the other desk sergeants seemed to look at her swiftly when she entered, as though they'd been talking about her.

She was then put at ease when Brooks ran out to her from behind the desk.

'You alright, Miss Stewart?' he asked, looking concerned.

'Sargeant Milner told us about what happened with the car. We've been worried sick.'

'Oh, yes, I'm fine, thanks' she said sheepishly, removing her hat and casting her eyes down in embarrassment.  
Foyle smiled for a moment, knowing how uncomfortable such attention made her. He then patted her shoulder kindly before walking to his office.

The rest of their office hours were uneventful – a few calls, reports filed, arrest warrants granted, and a drive planned to take him to Hill House to close the case. By now he'd also learned who had dismantled the Wolseley, though Foyle made sure not to bring that up when Sam inevitably asked about it.

In the meantime Sam prepared his tea in the galley, thinking about the night before like she'd promised herself she wouldn't. It was proving impossible to not mix her yesterday's personal experiences and today's professional decorum. Though they'd both been respectable and unassuming, Sam caught her mind wandering more than once when she saw him pass her in the hall, noticing his broad shoulders and wanting to touch them again.

Foyle was equally distracted. He reminded himself not to look too fondly at her when others were near, and when the two of them were alone he had to keep her at arm's length. He was glad she was being professional, yet occasionally his mind wondered in her direction and he envisioned her sitting in the corner of his office, her eyes shining as they had this morning.  
Particular moments stood out to him at different times throughout the day. Around 3 p.m. as he read another interminable Home Office memo ("We request that you cease inquiry into ... blah blah blah ... confidential ... etc.") he heard Sam laughing from down the hall. Her voice was glorious and joyful, and he was reminded of how she'd sounded when they were alone. Her exuberance. Her passion. Her indescribable vulnerability.

'Tea, sir?' she asked suddenly from the doorway, shaking him from his reverie.

'Uh, yes – thank you, Sam' he said, moving a file out of his way as she set the tray on his desk.

She smiled slightly at his flustered expression.  
'What's the matter?' she asked.  
He had to thinking of something, but for once he wasn't coming up with a good excuse. He saw her genuine concern and gave up entirely.

'... Just... Thinking. About last night,' he said this last part so quietly that even the most curious of eavesdroppers might not hear him from behind the closed door.

She smiled, a warm glow seeming to emanate from her as she blushed happily.  
'Yes, the weather was lovely last night, wasn't it?' she said.

He was confused for a brief moment before he realized she was intentionally being illusive. He closed his eyes for a moment, wondering how he'd let his guard down in his own office.

'Yes, it... ccccertainly was,' he said with a slow blink up in her direction.

'I hope it will be lovely again tonight,' she went on, putting his empty cup and saucer together before picking up the trey.

He smiled despite himself.

He thought she would return to the galley, but she remained standing there a moment longer.

'Are we going for a drive today, Sir?' she asked.

He paused, wondering if she was still being illusive or if she was serious. He quickly deduced that it was the latter.

'Yes, actually. I need to go to Hill House.'

'Will we need backup, or is it all very hush-hush?' she asked.

'Hush-hush' he said, smiling quickly at her.

That was enough for Sam, and she left the office noticeably happier than when she'd entered.

He followed her with his eyes. He could tell she had something in mind, and his heart raced when he considered the possibilities.


	7. Chapter 7

**Writer's Note** : Ladies and gents, I have been trying to figure out how to navigate the issue of Milner's presence during the final scenes of 'The French Drop,' which add some conflict into the mix with the events below. Since I moved the bit about winning the onion to an earlier chapter way back when, I've decided to take a bit of artistic license with Milner's storyline a bit in this section. I hope that will be acceptable and that you enjoy this chapter! With that said, read on, McDuff!

* * *

Foyle was reaching the end of his tether. After the long drive from Hastings, Lieutenant Colonel Wintringham was refusing to talk. It was his insistence that the SOR had done 'nothing illegal' that was bothering Foyle the most.

'The suicide letter – forged. The girlfriend, Marian Greenwood, works for you and perverted the course of justice. Added to which, one of your men tried to kill me.'  
He paused, trying not to think of the other life that had nearly been claimed by Major Stafford's showboating.

'Illegal, all morally unacceptable,' he concluded. 'How would you like to justify it?'

From all outward appearances anyone in the room might have described Foyle's demeanor as cool, calm and collected. Inside, however, he boiled with disgust – a disgust which grew stronger with the lieutenant colonel's every utterance.

'Necessities of war, Mr Foyle, in which there is no morality,' Wintringham said, unflinchingly. 'You fail to grasp this,' he continued 'in truth I don't like it any more than you do, but it's part of our existence. It's what we're for.'

There was a moment of silence. Foyle knew he would get nothing further from this man, let alone remorse at the suffering and injustice he'd caused. Everything the SOE had done was disgraceful, and yet Wintringham was prepared to defend such behavior until the end. Such a man didn't care whether people like Sam lived or died, and Foyle hated him for it.

As he made to leave – guided by Ms. Pierce – he believed his frustration had reached its peak. Not only could he not explain to the Messengers what had happened to their son, he was being held to secrecy on the behalf of people he despised. Ms. Pierce had assured him he could 'wait' before exposing the SOE's malpractice, but Foyle knew such a deadline was open-ended at best. Who could say how long the war would last?

But it was the arrival of the Messengers that capped it all, as Sir Giles assured Foyle that he may 'put any idea about joining The Service out of his mind.' While such a threat was unlikely to dissuade Foyle from pursuing work outside the force, he would have been a fool to consider the threat idle.

Exhausted and thoroughly put out, he returned to the Wolseley to join Milner and Sam.

The drive back to Sam's uncle's house was filled with questions – as was commonplace when Sam was in a good mood. In particular she wanted to know who had been responsible for the death of the British agent, and why she hadn't seen any criminals escorted from Hill House. Foyle declined to comment until the question he'd most dreaded finally came up.

'And did you ever find out what happened to the car?'

He was silent, chewing on the corner of his lip as he cast his eyes down and away from her prying side glances.

'…Yyyyes,' he said finally.

Her eyes grew wide in sudden surprise. She hadn't expected him to give her anything after the secrecy of his meeting this afternoon.

'Did you really, sir? What was it? I've not had any trouble from her since then and I only recall it happening the one time after we'd left the estate,' she said.

'Perhaps it's better not to worry about that, Sam,' he said somewhat awkwardly, resting his arm behind the headrest of her seat, as was his habit during long drives.

'I'd like to know too, sir,' Milner chimed in from the back seat. 'Someone trying to disrupt the investigation?'

 _Damn it, Milner_ , he thought. He had wanted to avoid talking about the accident, but it appeared they were teaming up on him.

Reluctantly he acknowledged that one of the SOE majors had employed a disabling technique on the Wolseley during their last visit.

Sam's brow furrowed slightly as she took this in, sitting silently as she processing. Foyle didn't like the shadow that clouded her face and hoped their arrival at Aubrey's house would distract her.

* * *

After saying their goodbyes to Sam's uncle and driving through the small village, Milner asked to be let out at the next town – the only town for the next 20 miles with a train station and hotel.

Foyle was confused and looked back at Milner, his inquisitive brow on full display.

'What are you doing?' he asked.

'I'll be back in Hastings tomorrow, don't you worry sir,' Milner said quietly as he slid toward the door to let himself out.

Foyle thought a moment. He could think of only one reason why Milner would spend the night away from Hastings.

'Jane?' he asked simply. Milner's cheerful expression withered and he nodded, eyes crestfallen. Without another word he opened the door and made his way to the boot, collecting an overnight case Foyle hadn't seen him bring.

Foyle looked at Sam only to find her quiet and unmoved by the change of plan.

 _So, she knew about this_ , he thought. He gave a tiny private nod, more to himself than to anyone else.

Sam was avoiding his eyes and gave Milner a parting wave. Foyle tipped his hat in Milner's direction, and as Milner bid them goodbye they set off to complete their journey.

* * *

Foyle was worried about Sam. As the village disappeared behind them and the barren countryside began, Sam hadn't said a word. Indeed, Foyle could barely hear her breathe. For perhaps 10 minutes he'd noticed her eyes becoming glossy, but her look of determination had assured him she had no intention of discussing her feelings. Finally, after his attempts at small talk had failed and he could bare her silence no longer he broached the subject.

'What's the matter, Sam?' Foyle asked gently.

She was silent for another few seconds before she let out an exclamation:

'Thank God!' she cried, a small sob choking the Lord's name as it escaped her lips.

Foyle looked around, wondering what she was talking about. She was now clearly distraught.

'Here, pull over,' he said, gesturing to the edge of a field that was swiftly approaching. She pulled the car to the side of the road before switching off the engine and covering her face in her gloved hands.

Sam was embarrassed by this sudden (and atypical) display of emotion. She felt foolish and immature for losing control this way, particularly while on the job. She could feel her face going hot and red as she held back tears.

'What is it?' he asked, trying to look into her eyes.

She took a breath.

'All this time I'd been so worried I'd done something wrong,' she said, her lip twitching slightly with the effort of not crying. 'I thought I'd lost control or something, I don't know.'

'When?' he asked, feeling stupid.

'I thought it was my fault all along, but now I know it wasn't. I thought I'd almost killed you and didn't know how to prevent it happening again!'

Foyle's eyebrow creased in supplication as he realized what she was talking about.

'Oh, Sam,' he murmured, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her toward him.

He held her close and rested her head against his shoulder and she sniffed into his lapel. He didn't care that he was on duty just now – as far as he was concerned he was doing his job: keeping the peace.

'I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier,' he said. 'I thought you wouldn't want to know. I can see I was wrong.'

She wrapped her arms under his jacket and around his middle.

'I understand, sir,' she said, muffled in his shoulder.

He paused.

'Why don't we take a breather?' he asked. 'The sun's out. Let's get some air.'

She didn't need much convincing and nodded before turning and opening the door. Foyle followed her.

The afternoon had turned surprisingly warm and bright, and Foyle found himself glad he'd proposed the stop. The field was on the side of a hill with woodland bordering the south, east, and west, and birds were practicing their music all around them.

Leaning against the car he surveyed Sam, who was breathing in the fresh air. A few loose strand of curly blonde hair had blown out from under her hat, but she seemed not to notice.

He felt dreadful for not anticipating her needs - her need to know the truth, her need to know she wasn't to blame. For a detective, Foyle did not feel particularly observant.

'Sam, did you really recover from the accident?' he asked, watching her eyes for any signs of upset. Sam didn't seem to mind the question.

'I thought I had,' she said. 'It could have been a lot worse, I know. You hear about accidents like that every day.'

She was now filling about with the car, absentmindedly buffing a smudge off the passenger side door.

'But when you mentioned it earlier... I don't know, I guess it was just such a relief, that's all.' She sounded as though she was trying to be casual and level-headed, he noticed.

'Well... Just... Know that you're still a damn good driver,' he said warmly, his brows creased awkwardly as he gave her her favorite half-smile.

That seemed to do the trick. Her eyes momentarily filled with tears again, only now he knew it was for a decidedly more positive reason.

'Thank you, sir,' she said horsely. The croak in her voice made his heart constrict, and he wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms. He controlled the urge to the best of his ability.

A few moments later he saw her making her way to the back of the car. She then returned with a basket under one arm and a blanket curled up beneath the other.

'Where did you get that?'

'From the boot. I thought we could have a picnic while we were in the country,' she said, noticeably cheerier.

He smiled wryly, confident he was watching her plan play out before him.

'Milner help you arrange this?' he asked. She chuckled.

'No, but he did ask me if I'd stop for him on the way back.'

'Thought as much,' he said, following her to a level spot in the field.

Sam had brought toast, jam and a bottle of Aubrey's dreadful wine. Upon her opening the basket she met his glance, which was followed with a singular raised eyebrow. She smiled wider.

'I know, I'm sorry. It was all I could manage.'

'You didn't steal that from him, did you?'

'No, he always sends me a bottle,' she said, getting out the butter knife and plates.

'I also brought tea, but it's cold.'

'I'll take my chances,' he said, accepting her proffered cup and saucer with a grateful nod. He wasn't sure he could handle the drive back under a haze of green spirits.

After the food and tea were polished off they decided to extend their stay a bit longer. The breeze was so lovely and the multiplicity of wildflowers was intoxicating, and both Foyle and Sam found they had little interest in returning to the road.

Foyle made himself comfortable on the blanket - his arms behind his head - and watched Sam pick wild flowers by the hedgerow. She looked like Persephone incarnate, walking back to him, her arm swinging beside her, a large fistful of wild daisy, yarrow and black-eyed Susans in-hand. She'd removed her hat and gloves, and the sight of her made Foyle wonder how such natural beauty could exist in a time of war.

His heart felt as though it were growing with his every breath.

She settled down beside him comfortably after slipping a stem of Queen Anne's lace in the button hole of his jacket. He made a mental note to not wear it into the station – provided they got back to Hastings before nightfall. He brushed away the fallen petals the bloom had left upon his breast pocket and looked into his eyes for a moment.

'I really do love you, you know' she said matter-of-factly, smiling at him.

He smiled and took her hand in his, locking their fingers together and resting them on his stomach while he reclined.

'And I you,' he said.

But as she leaned forward to kiss him he held her back by the shoulders.

'Steady on, Miss Stewart, we're on duty,' he said, not realizing the aphrodisiac effect of those words.

'There's no one about,' she said rationally – almost too rationally, he thought. 'And besides, who's to say they'd know it was us?'

'Well, the police car's a good start,' he said with raised eyebrows.

She looked down for a moment before giving up her attempt, holding her hands in her lap innocently as she picked leaves from the stems of her wildflowers. As she did this he watched her, thinking.

 _Well, it_ is _true,_ his Devil's Advocate thought. _At this hour it's not likely anyone will be around – maybe the odd farmer or two, but they wouldn't care enough to stop_. Further, they were more that two hours away from Hastings.

He propped himself up on his elbow and reached out to stroke Sam's jaw, running his thumb along her cheek. She smiled softly, her eyes closing as she embraced the sensation of him kissing her neck. Then his lips met hers, deeply and lovingly – as though pledging his bodily commitment.

God only knew how much longer their day trip would take now, he thought. Still, he had to admit the prospect was a lovely one.

* * *

'Are you sure you want to leave the police?'

They'd been sitting in peaceful, quiet embrace before Sam spoke.

He smiled.

'Wull… I'd like to, but it ssseems the plan's been delayed somewhat,' he said slowly as he squinted up at the clouds. She looked at him.

'So you won't be leaving after all, then?' she asked hopefully.

He shook his head. 'Not yet.'

'But you will eventually?'

Now it was his turn to chuckle.

'Well, I can't stay forever, Sam.'

'I know. I just mean, you won't… well, you won't want to be rid of everything, I hope.' She was stumbling a bit as she tried to find the right words. '…Every _one_?' she added, so quietly it was a whisper.

She knew she didn't hide her fear well, for she saw his brow crease slightly before he turned his gaze down to her. He could see uncertainty in her eyes, heard it in her voice – even felt it in the way she'd awkwardly shifted against him.

'No.'

His eyes were warm with reassurance. He ran his fingers through her hair and cradled the back of her neck as he brought her brow to his lips. After a long, patient kiss he rested her forehead against his, eyes closed.

'No, love,' he whispered.

Her responding smile was dazzling and took his breath away.

All was quiet as the breeze swept through the fields. The trees seemed to sigh as their leaves shuddered in the wind. She laid her head against his shoulder again, finally at ease for what felt like the first time that day. Slowly rising and falling with his breathing she felt as though they were rooted to the earth, fixed and protected from the soft chaos of the natural world around them.

She twirled one of his stray locks around her index finger, the warmth of the sun embracing her back as the warmth of her policeman embraced the rest of her.

The chirping birds in the wood a few yards behind her, and the zapping sound of insects in the tall grass beside the road were nearly drowned out by the sound of the heart pounding below her.

The sound brought about a feeling in the pit of her stomach – a dull ache she'd only recently come to understand.

'Dearest,' she said softly, trying to find a way to make a proposition without stirring his ever-present professional principles.

'Hmm?'

She thought a moment. _Easier not to use words, I think_ , she decided.

She shifted her waight onto her hands on either side of him and looked down for a moment. He appeared surprisingly comfortable for a man of his age, considering he was lying on uneven ground. He might as well have been sunbathing. His hat was slightly tipped down to shade his eyes, and from below the brim he returned her gaze calmly and with perfect comfort.

He ran his hands up her sides as he waited for her next move. He didn't have to wait long.

For a moment he wondered what he should do as she leaned forward and kissed him at the crook of his neck. His hand hesitated for a moment beside her as he struggled to find words. One of her hands vanished underneath his shirt and caressed his torso.

'Was this your plan?' he asked breathlessly. She shook her head.

'Not really,' she murmured. 'I'd hoped we'd have more privacy.'

The sensation of her nose lightly brushing against his neck sent shivers over him.

'Then again, perhaps it's better this way,' she said thoughtfully. 'Then we can't go completely mad.'

His eyes closed as he struggled to make his body agree with her.

'Nnnnot sure we're doing too well at that, Sam,' he said as he felt her breasts brush against him.

His hands began to wonder, curving down her waist to her thighs and pulling them instinctively, wanting to feel them on either side of him.

Unfortunately her skirt would not allow for such nonsense.

'Sam,' he said suddenly as he stopped her in the process of pulling her skirt higher. Though his senses hadn't entirely returned to him, the sight of her bare thigh and tied stockings brought him momentarily back to earth.

'I think you're right,' he said, catching his breath as he loosened his tie. 'We need more privacy.'


	8. Chapter 8

Note: Apologies for the wait - format issues have made the posting of this chapter problematic. Hopefully now it's all sorted out.  
This chapter is more, em... well, it's another M-rated chapter xD I've also included a bit of jealousy in this chapter, as requested by Veve. I hope you like it.  
As always, thank you to you loyal readers who have stuck with this story, despite its author's unpredictable schedule. I hope you enjoy this final chapter - and please don't hesitate to make any requests for stories you'd like to see played out - I'm happy to add my spin to whatever you'd like to have further imagined in the series. Much love and thanks!

Sam laughed as she looked about for a private place to retire to with her policeman.

'Why don't we move further downhill?' she said quietly, though no one was there to overhear them. 'There's no one about and… well, I don't know… might be rather exciting.'

Foyle was shocked by this suggestion. Such exhibitionism was very un-Sam-like.

'I'm surprised, Sam. Didn't think you'd be willing to get yourself hauled in for public indecency.'

'I'm just not sure how many options we have out here,' she said.

'Perhaps we should… retire to the car?' he said, wincing slightly as he considered it. There was something unsavory about the thought – something problematic, associating their police vehicle with such unprofessional activity.

Sam briefly considered this as well, but mainly wondered how the relative discomfort of the seats would suit the occasion.

'Do you think it's a good idea, sir?'

Foyle pretended not to notice the slip into professional verbiage.

'Wull, like you said – not many other options. Not unless you'd want to wait until we get to town-'

'No,' she interjected, rather too hurriedly for her liking. She felt embarrassed by the brashness of her response, so much so she didn't see the small laugh it brought to Foyle's lips. With every moment she continued to surprise him.

He had to admit, it pleased him to see her so eager. He marveled at her wanting him so much.

'What about the woods?' she asked suddenly, eyeing the forest and hedgerow that stood a hundred yards to the west.

Foyle furrowed his brow skeptically, shaking his head.

'I wouldn't think it'd be too comfortable.'

'Jolly romantic, though,' she said. In her earliest days working with Foyle she'd had to fight back occasional fantasies of him ravishing her against an oak tree.

Despite himself his eyes gave away his amusement. He secretly agreed – it would be very romantic.

'Would there be insects, do you think?' he asked.

She thought for a moment.

'We could bring the blanket,' she said. 'And if there's any trouble we can just… relocate.'

Without another word he stood, adjusted his hat and handed her up from her spot on the picnic blanket. Then they quickly stowed the basket and dishes in the boot of the Wolseley before looking about and making a swift jaunt toward the woods.

Foyle's mind was racing. What if someone catches us? He thought. God forbid, there could be a hunter or fisherman passing by at any moment.

They crept into the woodland cautiously, Foyle all the while looking out for notices of property ownership. There weren't any.

Soon they found a particularly protected spot, where low-hanging tree limbs created a nearly perfect hideout – shaded and densely shielded from the field by wildflowers and brush.

The scent of the bay willow leaves beneath them was wonderfully earthy, mixing with the aroma of forest soil and damp moss. The scent made their impromptu trip to the woods feel somehow more beautiful – as though all senses were catered to.

They swiftly spread the blanket beneath the low tree limbs and returned to one another's embrace.

Sam ran her fingers through Foyle's hair and under his hat as he laid her gently across the blanket.

It had been a long time since he'd last felt giddy with anticipation like this and the feeling was rather invigorating. Their last excursion together had been slow and cautious, explorative in the early stages but passionate in its conclusion. This time they were unafraid, and Sam's hands were fervently caressing him as he removed his jacket.

'Sam, in your planning for this "picnic," did you happen to stop by the chemist before we left Hastings?' he asked, feeling his heart race.  
Sam froze.

'…Oh, dear,' she said quietly, her eyebrows twisting into an expression of agony. 'I didn't think to.'

'It's alright,' he said gently, bending down lower to kiss her while his hand traveled into the pocket of his waistcoat, 'because I did.'

Sam suddenly remembered an odd moment earlier in the day, when – before setting off from the station – Foyle had insisted on running an errand down the street. He had assured her he would be back shortly, telling her to return to her tea and leave it to him.

She smiled before kissing him hard on the lips, pulling him to her with such passion he was momentarily stunned. His breath burned in his lungs when she came up for air.

'I wondered why you didn't ask for the car,' she said breathily, her eyes glowing with affection. It struck her as intensely meaningful that he'd thought to prepare for just such a contingency, for she knew he was not one to make such plans lightly.

He took a deep breath to steady himself.

'I thought it would be… indecent, should you be spotted in the car. Wouldn't want people to talk,' he said, giving her his downturned smile.

As he was talking Sam removed her uniform tie. Helping her unbutton her shirt, Foyle began trailing kisses down her neck to her shoulder, paying particular attention to the spot he'd learned was most sensitive. The sensation sent goosebumps over Sam's arms and elicited a girlish chirp from her throat that made him chuckle before running his hands under her and slowly unzipping her skirt/

'I take it we're not on duty now, then,' she said, smiling even wider and tugging her skirt up her hips.

'I am,' he murmured as he rolled up his shirtsleeves, his lips not far from her ear.

'Just the nature of the job's changed a bit.'

Something about the way he was removing his watch thrilled her – he was planning something.

It took a moment for Sam to catch his double entendre, but as she did she felt her face flush warmly. She noticed that though he was looking downward to his work, a coy smile played about his lips, twisting them into that pleasing crooked position she loved so much.

He set off brushing slow, deliberate kisses down her torso. The sound of him shifting about her seemed almost loud when contrasted to the stillness of the wood around them. Everything was peaceful and from a distance the birds were still practicing their music.

Sam shifted into a sitting position, which stopped Foyle in his exploration, and she reached to remove his tie. He stopped her hand with his and brought her wrist to his lips.

'Can I tell you something?' he asked smoothly, eying her.  
'Of course."  
He paused momentarily to kiss his way up her arms.

'I was worried I wouldn't make it to the chemist this morning,' he said, a slight chill running over him as Sam ran her hand down his back.

'Oh yes?'

He nodded silently, kissing her soundly on the lips.

'But I had a thought-' he continued breathily, 'a contingency plan, really. Had a dream about it last night.'

'What was that?' she asked.

The mischievous smile twisted his lips again and there was something unusually meddlesome in his eyes that fascinated her.

'Why don't I show you?' he said, poised and ready to act upon her instruction.

She had no idea what he meant, but she trusted him wholeheartedly.

'Is it as lovely as you make it sound?' she asked sheepishly, trying to sound mature and mysterious – and not succeeding.

He smiled wider as he thought for a moment, then raising his brows as he considered his response.  
'I've been told so, yes,' he said.

She nodded, and as she did so she wondered why he closed his eyes in this manner – like he was suddenly relieved or praising God.

His hands traveled around her hips, anchoring her to him as he pulled her legs on either side of him. Then his kisses seemed to travel further than before, until she realized her legs were over his shoulders.

What on earth -? She wondered, before suddenly being seized by the overwhelming sensation of his attentions. Her legs buckled slightly and she gasped despite herself.

She didn't know how to react. She knew that her body enjoyed it, but something in her conscience bristled.

'Em… dearest,' she attempted, pausing for breath. 'Isn't it rather… unpleasant to be so…-' her felt her face turning red but didn't care, 'so involved?' she finally managed.

He chuckled deeply, his hand traveling back up her thigh toward her knee.  
'Quite the opposite,' he murmured, not looking up from his work.

'Do you want me to stop, love?'

'Never' she sighed, much to his delight.

So he carried on, amazed and gratified by the strength of her response. When she'd brilliantly fallen from grace he rested his brow against her pelvis.

She was surprised to find they both were laboring to breathe.

'How did you learn that?' she asked breathlessly. She heard a smile in his voice, though it was obscured from her view.

'A long time ago, Sam. Haven't done it in a while, but, em…,' another steadying breath 'I remember it always seemed to do the trick.'

When he met her gaze his heart swelled to see her blissful expression.

'My god, you're lovely,' he said, shaking his head gently in disbelief.

'As are you, you wonderful man,' she smiled.

It wasn't long after that they found use for the provision he'd brought.

-  
The drive back was infinitely more cheerful, as was to be expected. At one point, in an unprecedented move that momentarily shocked Sam, Foyle leaned over and switched on wireless, Vera Lynn's soprano vibrato trilling out of the dashboard.

Foyle's arm stretched across the back of the seat, looking so relaxed it made Sam want to laugh. The romantic overtures of Lynn's words (~I've never loved anyone the way I love you. How could I, when I was born to be just yours?~) compounded with the sun-shiny country drive seemed almost farcical in the light of the hour or two they'd just passed on the roadside.

For his part, Foyle wasn't ignorant of it either. Still, he found that he was suddenly feeling younger – perhaps even Sam's , how simple things can take years off you,he thought.

During long trips like this Sam often yammered for a while, telling stories from her time in MTC training or asking countless questions about the cases Foyle was working on. But today there were several moments when neither of them spoke for miles at a time.

At Sam's insistence Foyle even cracked open one of the crime novels Sam had brought back from her Uncle Aubrey's. Such stories were, at times, exasperating to Foyle – on occasion he'd find himself interjecting his own observations (That's ridiculous, you've no basis for that accusation!) - but he decided to put aside his distain just this once, and to read aloud to Sam. Sam was in heaven, and Foyle would occasionally pause between paragraphs, lost in admiring her beaming expression.

At one point Sam noticed his unusually long pause and looked to see if he had fallen asleep. She saw that in fact he was awake, his eyes cloudy and smiling as he leaned against the back of the passenger seat. He quickly looked out the window, but his attempt at subtlety was futile. She smiled.

'Penny for your thoughts?' she said.

He huffed a chuckle before reaching up to scratch his brow, embarrassed.

'Nothing important," he said.

She refused to accept this answer.

'But if wereimportant…?' she prodded.

'Thennn…" he bit his lip as he thought. 'I'd have to tell you that, em… I was thinking about the future.'

Her heart seemed to stop and restart at this.

'What about it?' she asked with a false ease and casualness, feeling her neck go hot.

'Wull, just… picturing you in a few years' time, you know – maybe a mother with children…' he said this cautiously, mot looking at her. The smile in his eyes hadn't completely vanished, however, and as he trailed off again she felt certain he was looking back on this image of domestic Sam-itude.

'Well,I'd like to have children, but I suppose you've got to have some say in the matter,' she said in a businesslike manner. 'Do you think you'd like to have children again?'

His brow creased as he pictured it – pregnant Sam waddling around the house, arguing that "of course she'd still drive him! She's pregnant not useless!"The image made him smile.

'Might have to relearn some things,' he said slowly, 'but I think the idea of having a small Sam running around the house could be interesting.'

His mild-mannered language didn't sit well with Sam at first, until she realized that he was now beaming at her.

'Does that mean we're getting married, sir?' she asked.

'Sam, I thought we agreed you wouldn't call me that,'

'Oh yes, of course. Sorry.' She straightened her shoulders and tried again.

'Do you want to get married, then?'

This time he laughed fully.

'God, Sam, you can't make it easy, can you?'

'I just thought you'd like to be frank about it. After all, I'm not having children out of wedlock-'

'No, of course not!-' he closed his eyes in supplication. She smiled again. She was enjoying herself, he noted.

Then they were quiet again.

'Let's get some tea,' she said suddenly, nodding toward a small café on the outskirts of the next village.

'Then we can talk properly.'

They pulled up to the café, Sam removing her gloves and hat as they walked in.

It was a casual eatery of sorts, and as was expected there were very few people dining – only a few women and a pair of elderly ladies sharing tables by the windows. There was a till by the back, where a young man quickly caught sight of them and came to the door.

One thing Foyle had to admit – during wartime there was usually swift seating.

'Do you suppose they've got any battenberg? I'd kill for it,' said Sam, not noticing that Foyle was hardly paying attention.

'Sam, I hope what I said wasn't too sudden,' he said, his eyes exposing his deep unrest.

'No, not at all,' she said. 'I've imagined you with children many times.'

She said this as though it was nothing, but for Foyle it struck him powerfully.

'You have?' he asked softly.  
'Oh yes!' she continued. 'Of course, it wasn't much of a possibility at the time, just a fantasy. I wondered what you were like with Andrew when he was small, and I found I liked what I imagined.'

'What did you imagine?' he asked.

Sam's eyes became more earnest when she saw how serious he'd become. Her tone reflected the shift in tone, and they were soon staring deep into each other's eyes.

'I'd imagine you were a wonderful father,' she said. 'Wonderful men generally make wonderful fathers.'

He swallowed, hoping it wasn't too noticeable that his heart was beating in his throat.

'And… what about our ages?' he asked, almost breathless. 'You can't say it doesn't matter.'

'It doesn't to me,' she said. 'And besides, your eyes are quite lovely – I'd like to see them as often as possible.'

This got him, and before he could stop them he felt his eyes water as he absorbed her words. Sam wanted to have his children.

'They'll be a nuisance, you know,' he said, fighting until he could better control himself.

'Granted it's been a while, but that's something that will never change.'

'We can handle it,' she said calmly.

They were interrupted by the waiter, who took their orders on a small notepad. Before he left he closed the notebook and looked at Sam directly, his expression sheepish.

'I beg your pardon, miss,' he said, shifting from one leg to face her more directly, 'but I was wondering if you live around these parts. I've never seen you come in before is all.'

'Oh! No, I'm out in Hastings,' she said, smiling.

The waiter smiled, and when he saw his smile Foyle instantly disliked it. The expression in his eyes when he looked at Sam suggested he was interested in more than just her personality – particularly the way he looked her over now.

'Well, if you're ever out here again, I hope you'll stop by again. I'd be glad to take you to the pictures, if you're free,' he said, handing her a slip of paper.

Foyle's eyes lowered to the table and he chewing the inside of his lip, trying desperately to hide his disdain.

Sam was clearly uncomfortable, and while that was sometimes amusing to watch he found it thoroughly unnerving now.

'Oh,' she said awkwardly, taking the paper reluctantly.

'Uh, thank you… but you see, I'm already stepping out with someone.'

Foyle looked up from his spot on the table, his eyes warm, a hint of a smile creeping into the corner of his mouth.

The waiter was unperturbed.

'Ah, well, what he doesn't now won't hurt him, 'eh?' he said arrogantly, picking up the empty bread basket to return it to the kitchen. As he turned to leave his final gesture was enough to make Foyle close his eyes in frustration: he winked.

Sam scratched her temple nervously as she looked away from Foyle. He didn't know what she was embarrassed about.

After a few short moments of silence Foyle looked into her eyes.

'Well, that was interesting,' he said, lightening the mood. She smiled a crooked smile at him before drinking her tea.

'I'm sorry about that,' she said.

'Don't be. Not your fault you're attractive.' She felt herself go warm and fuzzy when he said this, though she tried to maintain an expression of modest incredulity.

'I don't know about that,' she said.

'I do,' he said matter-of-factly.

''Course, it might have been more effective if you'd said you were engaged.'

She set down her teacup.

'I don't know that I'd want to joke about that sort of thing,' she said, not quite realizing his point.

He tried again.

'What if it wasn't a joke?'

She scanned his eyes - of course he wasn't joking. He wouldn't joke about something like that.

She felt lightheaded, but she somehow didn't mind just now.

'Really?' she murmured breathlessly. He nodded, blinking one slow blink and smiling beautifully.

She kissed him across the table, not caring how the old ladies made nasty faces at her from across the room.

They sat in silence as she held his hand.

'I take it that's a yes?' she said, his eyes crinkling happily. She nodded, her eyes watering as she returned his smile.

'Absolutely."

It was very late when they arrived at Foyle's house, but neither of them minded. The drive back had been wonderful, and they decided to settle in for the night as soon as possible – Sam's neck was starting to twinge again, and Foyle was utterly exhausted.

But as they lay together comfortably, they both felt unutterably happy. The moonlight streamed in through the windows, casting long shadows across the floorboards.

'Well, at least one good thing came of the SOE's meddling,' Sam said dreamily as she rested in his arms.

He looked down at her curiously.

'We wouldn't be here now if they hadn't,' she said.

She laid back down on his shoulder, and as he stroked her hair he thought about this for a moment. It was true, in a terribly ironic way. It was also strangely powerful, this notion that an attempt on their lives had ultimately brought them together. Perhaps it was the appreciation of how valuable life was, or perhaps the crash had simply been the catalyst the universe employed to set fire to the emotions He and Sam had been too afraid to acknowledge. Whatever the case, there was a beauty to it that could not be denied – cruel, stunning beauty.

In his daily work Foyle had developed an almost clinical view of romance. Certainly he'd had his share of it in the past. But since Rosalind died he had witnessed countless crimes of passion, crimes of the heart, murders for the sake of love. As such, his experience with romantics in recent years had been instances wherein he was forced to balance duty to the law and his understanding of the human condition. He had become accustomed to weighing love on Justice's scale. How cold that seemed now.

In addition, the loss of his wife had left Foyle feeling empty, lonely for years. Letting go of that emptiness had proven difficult for him, even when he first realized he had feelings for Sam. In his mind falling in love had become a betrayal or a negation of the seriousness of his love for Rosalind. When he thought of how he'd almost lost Sam, as well, he saw what a disguised blessing the accident had been. It had woken him from his complacency, gradually nudging him back to life. It was a reminder that he was still alive.

Now, Foyle felt as if he was suddenly washed back into old, warmer tides – returned to a previous state of being he thought was long gone; he was experiencing romance without remorse.

His eyes became misty at the thought, and though he hoped Sam hadn't noticed he could feel her looking up at him inquisitively. She brushed her hand across his jaw, gently drawing her thumb through the cleft of his chin.

'Are you happy?' she asked gently, almost whispering.

He softly huffed a chuckle in response before looking down into her eyes.

She felt a tingling sensation all over at the warmth in his eyes. God, how much she loved him.

'Very,' he said finally. He blinked slowly, almost suggestively, and she smiled widely.

'Jolly good' she said at last. And after she gave one last kissing upon his neck, she drifted off into much-needed sleep.


End file.
